I’ve been watching a lot of basketball during the playoffs. A lot. So much so it’s invading my dreams.

My number one fantasy dream has always been about basketball. In the dream, I glide across the floor and I make the sweetest, thread the needle, no look passes you’ve ever seen. I leap toward the rim and at the point in the real world where I surrender to gravity, in the dream I continue to rise. It feels incredible.

I haven’t had the dream in a while. I guess since I don’t play anymore and I’m no longer completely obsessed by the game. But I’ve been watching so much lately and the games have been so edge of your seat intense it triggered something. The dream came back. And this time I have competition.

I’m going back and forth with this guy. He’s about six inches shorter than I am and is running his mouth non-stop. Every play. Now, I don’t mind a little yacking. Good smack is the trumpet section of the hardwood symphony. But that said, this little punk is getting on my nerves.

Suddenly there was a tie up. He and I wrestling for the ball. Ref calls a jump ball. And of course little man starts poppin off about how he’s going to out jump me. Bring it. Jump circle. Ref lofts the ball. Little man somehow DOES out jump me and tips it to his man. What the… Whose dream is this?

While I’m in a “what the…” daze, I lose track of little man and he slides under the basket. His man sees him wide open and flips him the ball. Here’s where it gets fun.

Everything slows down. Little man doesn’t see me and thinks he has a free and easy layup. I know different. I can feel it. As he shoots I leave the floor and he’s mine. I go up and keep going up. I could probably just grab the shot out of the air but I’m about to teach big mouth a thing or two. So I rare back and prepare to send this shot into the stands. The ball floats. I swing as hard as I can and SMACK!!!

Julie bolts straight up out of bed in a groggy half sleep and whisper yells, “What was that!” I heard something too but I’m not sure what. I try to wake up and clear my head. Is someone breaking in the house?

Julie flips on the light and we see the noise maker. There’s a vanity next to our bed on my side. Perfumes, gels and god knows what else. I had rared back and SMACKED Julie’s hairspray bottle across the room in my sleep. Tumbled some other stuff on the vanity too. “What did you do?”

The explanation brought out a sleepy laugh and an eye roll. Julie wasn’t impressed with my defensive prowess. She was, as you may have guessed, glad I wasn’t facing toward her in bed when I enacted my revenge on little big mouth. Maybe it’s best if I sleep on the couch during the Finals.

Basketball. The smell of old leather and stale sweat. The sound of a hardwood symphony. Piercing squeaks. Booming echos. Ripping nylon. Shouts and grunts and gasping. Hands and elbows and knees. Surface chaos masking an intricate dance. God what a great game.

The season is underway so how about a little Jordan love for old time’s sake. These are three of my favorites but there are many more.